Concrete Angel
by PeaceLoveAndAcoustics
Summary: Matthew Williams doesn't have an easy life.  He has to pretend that everything at home is okay, and he has to play big brother to Alfred.  What people don't know, is that both of the boys are going through hell. Songfic to 'Concrete Angel' Read & Review!


The sun peered through the curtains of his room, shining over his body, signifying him that it was time to wake up and get ready to go to school. Slowly, his tired, puffy eyes fluttered open to the same scene as the night before-well, after the incident had taken place. The teenage boy swung his legs over his bed, placing his feet firmly on his carpeted floor. Only when his feet made contact with the ground, they hit something else-something hard, and fleshy. Lean, bruised fingers ran along the polished wood of the nightstand that sit beside his bedside, and picked up his glasses. He put his glasses on, and now, being able to see more clearly, saw the being below him.

It was Alfred.

Matthew sighed as he gently kicked the American below him, making the older of the two boys flinch. Grumbles and minor curses came out of the other blonde's mouth, but Matthew dismissed them with a shake of his head. The Canadian teen stood slowly, stretched his muscles, and began about his morning chores-well, he did Alfred's, too. Alfred's sentence about him getting a shower somehow made it in his ear, but not to his brain. Matthew nodded, acting like he had fully heard what his brother had said.

He made his bed, straightened up the room, and put away the blankets and pillows that Alfred had used during the night. Matthew couldn't help but chuckle as he was tidying up the room, because he was usually the one who came into Alfred's room in the middle of the night, it was never the other way around.

Alfred made his way back into the Canadian's room, dressed in the same shirt that he wore yesterday. Matthew raised a disapproving brow and was about to say something when Alfred put his hand up. "Arthur forgot to do laundry yesterday. I'm just going with what I have."

Matthew nodded, and began to look through his own drawers to find suitable clothing to wear to school. Oddly enough, he was in the same situation as his older brother-apparently Arthur had forgotten to do both of their laundry yesterday-like that could be helped, after all, once he alcohol gets into his system, there's no need for memory.

The blonde shut his dresser drawer and sighed. Looking over at Alfred, he saw the puzzled look on the other blonde's face. "Looks like I'm going to have to do the same thing. We don't look too bad, do we?"

"Nah. And besides, it's not like we have to do this **everyday**, Arthur just forgot."

"Yeah...he just forgot." Matthew agreed, pulling on his shirt. His blue eyes wandered over the other teen's body, seeing the pain inflicted from last night. Matthew could already see the bruises starting to form on the other's arms, black, blue nasty reminders of what they had to deal with on a constant bases. The boy then ran along his own arms, wincing at the pain that he felt when his hand came in contact with a reminder.

"Mattie! We need to get lunch money from Arthur so we can go-"

"No!" His brother snapped, clenching his fists. "I mean, no. We can make our own lunches, Alfred. We have time."

"Aw, but Mattie!"

Matthew sighed, and pushed his brother out of the door, all the way down the stairs, and into the kitchen. Sometimes, **he **felt like the older of the two. "Now, tell me what you want in your lunch, and I'll make it for you."

"You don't have to treat me like I'm five, you know. I can pack my own lunch. Where are our lunch boxes?"

Matthew looked around the kitchen, and let out a defeated sigh. "Alfred, you know we haven't had lunch boxes since we were in the third grade. We're just going to have to brown bag it today,"

"But everyone is going to make fun of us!" Alfred whined, getting out the lunch bags. "But fine, we'll do it your way. But tomorrow, we're going to ask England for lunch money like we're supposed to."

"As you wish. But for now, hand me the jelly."

Alfred stuck his tongue out as he handed his older brother the jelly jar. Matthew made both of their sandwiches, packed both of their lunches, and got them out the door on time.

The two brothers walked down the street towards their school, Alfred all the while complaining about how Arthur could've given them a ride today, and that it was no big deal. But he never did mention how they were going to hide the bruises on their arms. "Hey, Alfred?"

"What is it, Mattie?" Alfred asked, walking up the steps of the school, waving to a few of his friends.

"What do you say to the people that ask?"

"Ask about what?"

Matthew pointed to his arm. "These. Do people stare as you walk down the hall? Do they question you, ask you what's wrong?"

"Not really, no. And when they do ask, I just lie and say that we got into a fight or something, and that you whooped me good."

"I guess that works,"

"Why? What have you been saying?"

Matthew blushed. "Well, I-I've said that they've come from hockey practice, but we all know that I can't keep using that same excuse forever. People are going to catch on eventually."

"Well, when they do, you tell them to fuck off. It's none of their business, Mattie."

"I guess you're-" He was cut off by the ringing of the school bell. He hugged his brother goodbye, but then quickly grabbed his arm. "Alfred, wait!"

"What is it, bro? I gotta get to class."

"Promise me that you'll wait for me before you start to walk home."

"Mattie-"

"Promise me!" Matthew screamed, earning him stares from everyone in the crowded hallway.

"Jesus fuck, Mattie. Fine! I'll wait for you by my locker. Now, let go of my arm, would ya?"

The Canadian complied, and let go of his brother's arm. He faced the opposite direction, and walked towards his homeroom. The Canadian teen bumped into a few of his friends on the way, and chatted with them about hockey and the up coming game. All the while, he could feel their eyes on his arm. He quietly dismissed himself, and walked through the door to his homeroom just in time.

_She walks to school with the lunch she packed  
>Nobody knows what she's holding back<br>Wearing the same dress she wore yesterday  
>She hides the bruises with the linen and lace, oh<em>

After announcements were officially done for the morning, the Canadian made his way to his first period class. His tired body was already telling him that he needed a break, and it was so early in the morning! His blue eyes flickered to the board, and tried to concentrate on what his teacher was lecturing about. He felt his mind start to wander off to what had happened the night before...

England sighed, and opened another bottle of rum. He brought the bottle to his lips, and let the cold, raging liquid slide down his throat. The Englishmen ran his fingers through his short, blonde hair, and let out a frustrated groan.

Fighting could be heard from the room above his office-Matthew's room. Before going up there and ending the dispute between the two brothers, he decided to play a little game with himself to see if he could figure out what they were exactly fighting about. Girls? Sports? School? Friends?

A loud thump from above signified that this was no ordinary fight, and things had started to turn physical. Arthur let out another long sigh, again brought the bottle to his lips, laid his head back, and took a long swig out of the abused, worn bottle. Satisfied, the Brit set down the document he was reading on the study table, and made his way up the stairs to the heat of the battle.

Matthew laid on the floor, holding his jaw in pain. He locked eyes with Alfred-a very pissed off Alfred, at that. He stood slowly, raised his fist, and was about to make contact when he felt the heat of Arthur's glare. "A-Arthur!"

"Do you mind telling me what the bloody hell you two are doing?" Arthur demanded, stomping into the room. His green eyes looked over to Alfred, who still had his fists clenched. "Well?"

"He started it." Alfred simply said, sitting on the floor. "I was just reacting."

"No way! You totally started it, Alfred!" Matthew said, defensively.

"No you did!"

"No you did!"

"No you-"

"Enough!" England shouted, his fist connecting with the wall, making it crumble. "I don't give a bloody rats ass who started it, I'm going to end it!"

"But England-"

"Get up, both of you!" The boys stood side by side. "If you two want to fight like men, then you're going to be punished like men!" Arthur grabbed both of the boys, and squeezed tightly. The boys let out a pained howl, but Arthur quickly silenced them both with a punch to the jaw. "I've had enough of you two. Alfred, go to your room! I'll deal with you when I get there. As for you..." He glared at the Canadian teen, which made Matthew tremble. "Dishes. They need done. See to it. Now!"

"Y-Yes, sir!" Matthew quickly scrambled out of the room, and ran down the stairs into the kitchen. With shaky hands, he grabbed a dish, and ran it under the hot water.

He tried hard not to hear the screams that were coming from Alfred's bedroom...

"Matthew?" His teacher asked, coming to his desk. "Are you alright? Your face is flushed."

Matthew smiled, and waved his hand. "No, no. I'm fine. It's just a bit warm in here."

"Well, okay then..."

The bell rang then, making Canada jump. "I-I'll see you tomorrow!"

"Yes...see you tomorrow."

_The teacher wonders but she doesn't ask  
>It's hard to see the pain behind the mask<br>Bearing the burden of a secret storm  
>Sometimes she wishes she was never born<em>

Through the wind and the rain she stands hard as a stone  
>In a world that she can't rise above<br>But her dreams give her wings and she flies to a place  
>Where she's loved concrete angel<p>

At the end of the day, Matthew found Alfred standing by his locker with a group of his football friends, joking around, carrying normal conversation. Matthew made his way into the crowd, and tugged on Alfred's arm. Alfred nodded in return, said his goodbyes, and quickly walked way with his brother.

"So, did anyone ask?" Matthew asked, opening the door for his brother.

"No, not really. One teacher did, but I told them it was from football. They seemed to believe that. Why? Did anyone ask you?"

"No, no one asked me." Matthew replied, leaning his head on Alfred's shoulder. "I wonder what type of mood Arthur will be in when we get home,"

"We can only hope that he hasn't been drinking," Alfred replied, kissing his brother on the forehead.

"Hope and pray," Matthew replied, linking hands with his brother.

"Yeah, hope and pray."

The two made their way to their house, unlocked the door, and set their bags in the living room as per usual. Just then, a man walked down the stairs, his blonde hair cascading down to his shoulders, a broad smile crossing his face. "Bonjour~!"

"Papa!" They both cried out, running for the man. They both fell into the man's arms at the same time, catching Francis a bit off guard.

"Whoa, nice to see you two as well. What have you guys been up to since I left?"

"I've been busy with football, and Mattie's been busy playing hockey!" Alfred said, snuggling into the Frenchman's chest.

France let out a small chuckle. "Is that right? Well, I guess that I'll just have to come to one of your games then, huh?"

"That'd be great, Papa!" The Canadian cried out, hugging the man tighter.

England walked through the door, a bit taken back at the sight of France. "Francis,"

"Arthur,"

"What are you doing here?" the British man asked coldly.

"I came here to see my children. Is that such a crime?"

"Well, if you're wanting custody of them, you can just kiss that goodbye and le-"

"Dad!" Matthew cried out, running over to the British nation. "Please, don't say that to Papa!"

"Who said I was talking to **you**?" England snapped, slapping his Canadian across the face. "If I wanted your opinion on the matter at hand, I would've asked you."

Matthew averted his eyes to the ground. "Of course. I'm sorry, sir."

"Arthur! You can't hit a child!" Francis cried out, running to the injured boys aid. "Is this what you have been doing the entire time?"

"Oh, it's a simple form of discipline, he'll get over it." Arthur said, turning away, folding his arms over his chest. "And besides, I don't need parenting tips from someone who runs away from their relationships, especially their children." He walked over to Alfred, and noticed that he was wearing the same clothes as he had the day before. "What do you think you're wearing?"

"It's a shirt."

"You wore that shirt yesterday, am I correct?"

"Well, yes-"

"Then why in God's name did you wear it again today? Do you want people thinking that I'm a bad parent?" Arthur questioned, grabbing the blonde by the shoulder. "Is that what you want? Do you want to get taken away from your home?"

"Maybe it's better that way," France commented, examining Matthew's swollen cheek. "If this is how you treat them, they're better off with me."

"I didn't ask for your input, frog." Arthur spat, glaring at the French nation. "Now, take that shirt off and I'll get you a clean one, okay?" He bent down and kissed Alfred's cheek, and looked him dead in the eye. "I love you, and I love your brother, very dearly. I don't mean to hurt you..."

Alfred nodded, feeling the tears fill up in his eyes. He slowly stripped off his shirt, revealing the bruises that Arthur had inflicted upon him. The dark marks covered his stomach, back, and sides. Alfred handed the shirt to Arthur, who snatched it out of his hands.

Francis clicked his tongue in disgust. "Is this what you do to them when they've done something wrong?"

"It's discipline," Arthur responded, walking into the laundry room. "Kids nowadays need more discipline."

France walked over and embraced Alfred, being careful of his bruises. "I'm going to get you out of here," He glanced over to Canada. "Both of you, I promise." All of the guilt that the French nation had been feeling swallowed him up, consuming him. He in all honesty had no idea that the boys were being treated in such a fashion, he always thought that they were in a safe, serene environment with their father taking care of them.

"Why don't you stay for dinner, Francis?" Arthur asked, coming back into the living room, handing Alfred a new, clean shirt. "It's the least I can do."

"Sure, that'd be lovely. After all, I haven't had a chance to talk to the boys in person for over a year now." France replied, coming back to his senses and forcing a smile on his face. "How about it, boys? Would you like it if Papa stayed for dinner?"

"Yes!" they both cried out, and then they laughed at how they both sounded like they were children again.

"Then it's settled. Arthur, let me cook for you. I'm sure these kids are sick of your cooking,"

"That's a subtle way to insult someone, Francis."

"Just go back into your study and I'll call you when dinner's done."

"Actually, I have to talk to the boys for a couple of minutes..." Arthur motioned for the two teens to go into his room, and they soon made their way up the stairs. As soon as they were out of sight, England made his way over to France. "Listen here, frog. I don't have any bloody idea as to why you're even here, but you're not going to take my children away from me!"

"These kids are in an unstable house with an unstable parent," France explained, stepping back. "I'm taking them first thing in the morning, and there's nothing you can do about it."

"Over my dead body!" England yelled, and then made his way up the stairs, furious. He threw the door open, seeing the two boys shaking on the bed. "Do you two want to live with that fucking idiot or stay here?"

"I-I'll stay here!" Alfred said, not wanting to get punished.

"And what about you, Matthew?"

"I'm going with Papa."

"Pardon?"

"Mattie, no!"

Matthew locked eyes with his father. "You heard me. I'm going with Papa. I'm sick of the abuse. I'm sick of lying about why these bruises are here!"

"You will do **no **such thing!" England yelled, knocking the Canadian down on the ground.

"Papa! Papa, help!" Alfred cried, running down the stairs.

"Alfred, what's the matter?"

"It's Dad! He's hurting Canada!"

"No!" France cried, dropping the pot the floor, racing up the stairs. His heart pounded in his chest, he could feel his heartbeat accelerate with each step. Finally, he reached the bedroom that he and Arthur used to share, and gasped at the sight before him.

England looked up, and released his hands from the boy's small, bruised neck. "And what do you want, frog?"

"England, I'm here to put an end to this!" France screamed, picking up the phone with shaky hands. He slowly dialed 911, telling the police everything, and they assured them that they would be on their way shortly. Meanwhile, England huffed out of the room, and stormed down the stairs and out of the house.

Alfred looked over the state of his brother, and knelt down beside the teen. "M-Mattie...you're gonna be okay! We're gonna get you help!"

"A-Alfred...I'm ready to go!"

"You might be ready to go, but I'm not ready to have you leave!" Alfred protested, letting his tears fall to the floor. "Ya just...ya gotta be strong."

"Alfred...Papa..." Matthew struggled to choke out, feeling faint. "I love you. And if it means anything, I loved Dad, too..."

"Matthew, listen! You're going to be fine!" France reassured the boy, kissing his forehead. "Alright? You're...you're safe now."

Canada smiled, and closed his eyes, one final time.

_Somebody cries in the middle of the night  
>The neighbors hear but they turn out the light<br>A fragile soul caught in the hands of fate  
>When morning comes it will be too late<em>

Through the wind and the rain she stands hard as a stone  
>In a world that she can't rise above<br>But her dreams give her wings and she flies to a place  
>Where she's loved concrete angel<p>

France lead Alfred into the cemetery where they laid his brother to rest. Alfred shakily made his way to stone, and sat down in front of it. The stone was in the perfect spot, Alfred knew. It was in a shaded place, the tree above it danced in the wind as it blew.

France sat down on the ground as well, placing the roses on the grave. "Well, it's time to pay your respects to your brother."

"I hate Dad, Papa."

"I know you do, and you have good reason to." France said, kissing the top of the boy's head. "But he's in prison now, serving hard time for what he did to you two boys, so you don't have to worry about a thing."

"Accept if Mattie made it to Heaven, and if he's happy."

France squeezed the boy's hand. "I'm sure he's happy. He's in a world where abuse doesn't exist, and he's where he's loved."

Alfred smiled, and leaned against France's slender frame. "I guess you're right."

_A statue stands in a shaded place  
>An angel girl with an upturned face<br>A name is written on a polished rock  
>A broken heart that the world forgot<em>

_Through the wind and the rain she stands hard as a stone_  
><em>In a world that she can't rise above<em>  
><em>But her dreams give her wings and she flies to a place<em>  
><em>Where she's loved concrete angel<em>


End file.
